


Silver Wings

by Amycat8733



Series: Lightning 'verse [1]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: F/M, Gen, Sentient Atlantis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-28
Updated: 2013-10-28
Packaged: 2017-12-30 19:15:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1022405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amycat8733/pseuds/Amycat8733
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How did Lorne wind up as Sheppard’s second in command? Here’s the tale of how the two met…</p>
            </blockquote>





	Silver Wings

**Author's Note:**

> Set season two between The Siege p.3 and Intruder
> 
> Thanks to Mysra for her beta and comments!

 

 

 

****

 

 

 

* * *

# Chapter 1

Lieutenant Colonel. That sounded so strange, especially with John Sheppard tacked on. Military Commander of Atlantis. Being able to say it without the “acting” stuck in there was even stranger, especially considering that there were a lot of people that thought he’d never make it past Captain.

Lieutenant Adams, the adjutant that the SGC had assigned to him, put down another cup of coffee at his elbow, startling him from his thoughts. “Sir, have you made any headway?”

John looked up. “Some, but there are several things I want and can’t find.”

Adams sat down. “What’s at the top of your list, sir?”

John sighed, leaning back as he reached up to rub his eyes. “Uniforms. The choices on this list are okay for Earth, but the blues and greens aren’t going to be appropriate for Atlantis. I need something that makes me instantly recognizable to my men while allowing me to blend in offworld when trying to avoid hostiles.”

Adams considered the choices. “Hmmm, well, sir, did you check the secondary list?”

John sat up. “Secondary list?”

Adams nodded. “If I understand the situation in Atlantis correctly, it qualifies as a forward base in a war zone. From what General O’Neill told me when he gave me this assignment, your background alone would qualify you for the secondary list.”

John riffled through the papers in front of him until he found the secondary uniform list. Scanning it, he found exactly what he wanted. “Perfect.” He grabbed a pen, making several quick notations on the sheet before he set it off to one side with the rest of his requisitions.

Smiling, John looked back at his checklist. “Next, I want some pilots. For the last year, I’ve been the only trained fighter pilot in the city. I don’t care if they’re Air Force or Marine, but they have to have the gene and have prior experience flying attack crafts.”

Adams frowned. “But the Jumpers aren’t fighters.”

John shook his head. “No, but they are very maneuverable and do end up fighting Wraith Darts frequently. We lost a jumper a few months ago because the pilot didn’t have experience with piloting a fighter. All pilots also need ground experience as well.”

Adams scanned John’s laundry list. “You also still need an Executive Officer.”

John rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, that too.”

 

 

* * *

Standing on the flight line at Nellis, Lt. Colonel John Sheppard was watching prospective pilots. So far he only had six that met his criteria. That wasn’t nearly enough. He settled in to watch as a new group of pilots entered the airspace. Major Randall, head of SG-6, was standing at his shoulder. He knew all of the pilots in the Stargate Program and was assisting John with his selections. Randall had quickly realized that John had more flight time, most of it in combat zones, than he did so he left off trying to pick pilots for the young colonel and instead concentrated on giving him background information on the prospects.

Scoping out the unit logo on the planes in front of them, Randall identified the newcomers. “This is the Silver Spur group. They all serve on different SG teams, but we have them fly together because of their status. The flight consists of Major Evan Lorne, Lt. Charles Cooper, Lt. Joe Walker and Capt. Rudy Jones. Lorne and Walker are Air Force, Cooper and Jones are Marines and all are adept at ground combat.”

Watching the team, John smiled. The lead pilot, Lorne, had just pulled off an excellent evasion maneuver. “I wouldn’t care if they were purple or even Army. I’ll take them.” He looked over his shoulder at Randall. “Any more like these?”

Randall nodded, smiling. “One more, plus a few stray Marines with experience flying stolen Goa’uld shuttles and Death Gliders.”

John’s grin grew a bit crooked. “Excellent. I’ll take them too.” He watched the Silver Spurs for a bit before turning to Randall. “Get me a Falcon and refuel them.”

Randall frowned. “A Falcon, sir?”

John nodded, already heading for the pilot’s locker room to change. “You heard me. I want to put this group through their paces.”

Randall frowned. “I understand that, but why a Falcon?”

John paused, turning slightly. “Because if I’m flying an F-16, it will give them an advantage. If I go up there in an F-22, it’ll be too easy.” He resumed his march to the locker room. “Now get me a plane, please.”

 

 

* * *

Lorne was amazed at the order to land and top off his tanks. Seemed some hotshot visitor wanted to dogfight. Well, if that’s what he wanted, Silver Spur would be glad to oblige. The rest of the group felt the same. Refuel done, they headed back up to wait on their victim.

 

 

* * *

As John did his preflight checks, Randall stood off to one side, a displeased look on his face. “Colonel, this is unnecessary. All SGC personnel are highly trained.”

John straightened from inspecting the landing gear. “I know that.  Consider this a job interview. This group interests me and I want to see what they’re made of before their orders are cut.”

Climbing into the cockpit, John verified that everything was correct. He flipped the onboard computer over to wargames, taking the live ordinance offline. He started the Falcon, letting the engines warm up, already plotting what he wanted to do.

 

 

* * *

Lorne and his squadron circled as they waited for the VIP to join them. As he watched, the Falcon neared the end of the runway then suddenly shot up into a steep, twisting climb. Lorne cocked an eyebrow as that climb was a combat maneuver. Lorne quickly sent his squad after the rapidly ascending Falcon.

Looping and turning through the sky, Lorne was impressed. Whoever the pilot was, he was doing a damn good job of avoiding the F22’s that he and the rest of Silver Spur were flying. The Falcon suddenly pulled a series of high G turns, coming up below Cooper to take him out as he slipped by. Following the rules of engagement, Cooper headed back to the tarmac. Walker and Jones tried to catch the Falcon in crossfire but the pilot opened his flaps, the drag causing the two F22’s to shoot past. Walker and Jones looped down to circle back, but their target was no longer there. He had put the plane into a steep dive then pulled a barrel roll and took out both men.

_“Damn, this guy’s good!”_ Walker yelled as he headed for ground.

_“Yeah, where was he when Anubis attacked a few years ago?”_ That was Jones. He was a veteran of the battle over Antarctica.

Walker and Jones were just touching down when Lorne’s radio squawked. _“Major, catch me if you can.”_ The easy, unhurried tone stung. It sounded as though the other pilot was bored.

 

 

* * *

While dodging the other fighters, John had scanned the base below. Toggling his radio, he called the tower. “Control, this is Falcon One. Permission to use section C for low maneuvers.”

_“Falcon One, this is Control. Permission granted.”_ A chuckle sounded in his ear. _“We were warned that you might want to do that. You are clear to proceed.”_

John grinned into his mask. “Roger, Control .” With the area clear, John headed into the artificial canyons of the hangars and other facilities.

 

 

* * *

Lorne ground his teeth when the taunt was delivered as the Falcon descended towards ground level. After the tower relayed the other pilot’s intentions, Lorne wondered if the guy was suicidal. The F-22 had a much tighter turn radius than the older Falcon, almost as good as an F-302.

After about ten minutes of chasing the Falcon along streets and over, around and even through open hangars, Lorne had to admit that this guy was definitely good; certifiably insane, but good.

 

 

* * *

Having observed Lorne during the dogfighting and ground maneuvers, John definitely liked what he had seen. With their flight abilities confirmed, it only remained to see what kind of men they were. With that thought firmly in mind, he pulled off a complex set of twists and rolls, managing to take Lorne out. To the Major’s credit, he got off a burst of return fire that almost got John.

# Chapter 2

After their reports were filed, Lorne and his squad headed to the Baron’s Rest for dinner and a few drinks. Walking in, Lorne scanned the room, noticing a group of locals that had taken over three of the larger tables. His squad just finished placing their orders when movement at the door attracted his attention. The newcomer was a guy Lorne had never seen before. He was six feet tall with dark, spiky hair that resembled a startled Tribble, and moved like a stalking tiger. Lorne surmised that the guy had seen combat recently. As he stepped into a pool of light, Lorne checked out his clothes, but they gave him no clue to the guy’s identity or occupation. He was wearing faded blue jeans, a black t-shirt and a black leather jacket. He watched as the guy took a seat at a small table against one wall, then shrugged, dismissing him when his dinner arrived, hunger trumping mystery.

 

 

* * *

John sat at his chosen table, watching the room, content to enjoy the atmosphere and lack of people trying to kill him. Other than Lorne and his wing, six of the other pilots he had chosen were present. Their orders hadn’t been cut yet, so this gave him a chance to observe them in a social situation.

 

 

* * *

After he finished his meal, Lorne made a point of keeping an eye on all of the SGC personnel present. When a few started to show the early effects of a bit too much fun, Lorne sent them to their quarters. As he moved from table to table, the topic of conversation was the mystery pilot in the Falcon. Other than saying the guy was crazy, Lorne confirmed that he was good and that, no, he had no idea who the guy was.

Heading back to his wing, Lorne heard another pilot loudly muttering to his colleagues. “Bad enough those guys from Peterson waltz in here and mess up our flight times.” The comment was met with loud agreement from his buddies as well as two others at a nearby table. The same guy continued, his voice taking on a drunken slur. “Then that damn hotshot Lieutenant Colonel hops in a Falcon an proceeds to make a bunch of F-22s look like paper airplanes.” He took another swig of beer. “Damned light bird made us all look bad.”

Lorne sensed the mood turning in the bar and signaled for the SGC pilots to head out.

Unfortunately, the drunk saw his gesture and recognized him. “Well, lookie here. Seems the snowbirds don’t like our company.”

Lorne held up a hand. “Just back off. You’ve had too much to drink and we’re leaving.”

The men at that table and the next two stood, sixteen in all, to face Lorne and the remaining five SGC pilots who had moved to stand with him.

“Oh, you’ll leave alright, “one of the other men sneered, “After we clip off your wings.”

 

 

* * *

John saw beer bottles being raised and slipped into the shadows. He’d been in a few bar fights before and had no desire to add more stitches to his medical record. It was bad enough that Beckett was already starting to break it up into volumes and wanted to upload it onto its own dedicated server. He worked his way along the wall, heading for a rack of pool cues. Hoping these were the good ones that screwed apart and not the cheap one piece cues, he pulled two from the rack. His luck held and he swiftly unscrewed the weighted butt ends from the lighter tips. He made a few passes while Lorne tried to talk the belligerent pilots down, but when the first strike flew, he knew diplomacy had failed. He saw the six pilots form into pairs, watching each other’s backs as they would in the air. He waded in from the side, aiming to disable without breaking bones. The fight was short and ugly, with the drunkest members of the group on the floor in various stages of vomiting, especially those that had caught one of John’s gut shots.

John looked at Lorne. “Get your men out of here,” he growled. “They started it, so let them try to explain it.” He looked at the sprawled pilots. “Considering how drunk they are, they probably won’t say anything if they want to be in the air anytime soon.”

Lorne glanced over the downed men and nodded. ‘You’re right. Thanks for the help.” Then making shooing motions, he chivvied his men out. He turned to look for the dark haired stranger, but he was gone.

 

 

* * *

After a light breakfast, followed by some time spent perusing equipment lists and personnel folders, John headed for the gym. This late in the morning, the place was empty so he had his pick of equipment. After doing his warm-up stretches, John ran several laps. Doing circles around the gym wasn’t as challenging as running the corridors of Atlantis, but it was better than using a treadmill. Tired of running, he moved to the martial arts area, grabbing his bantos sticks as he passed his bag. He didn’t know exactly why he had brought the sticks, a gift from Teyla, but he was glad he had. Taking his position, he started with the basic forms, progressing into the more complex forms before turning his attention to the targets. It wasn’t as good as sparring against Teyla, but it would do.

He had been at his workout for about an hour, concentrating on the moves and his targets when a prickling between his shoulders notified him that he had an audience. Lowering his sticks, he headed for the bench to get a drink. Sipping his water, John wiped his face with a towel and checked out his audience. Considering the dance his spidey-sense was doing, he wasn’t surprised to see the drunks from the previous night. “So, what can I do for you guys?’ he asked as he dropped his towel on the bench.

“You can go to Hell!” the leader, a blond with a puffy lip and matching black eye spat out. “We recognized those moves you were just doing from last night.”

At his signal, the gang of pilots moved in, surrounding John.

One, a bit more eager than his buddies, threw a sloppy roundhouse at John. That was all it took. John started swinging, each blow measured and precise. Even though his sticks were a blur, a few of the pilots managed to land some blows. It helped that they weren’t used to fighting as a group and kept getting in each other’s way. One unlucky soul tapped his ribs in a spot where a Wraith had landed a punishing blow a few weeks earlier. There were no cracks, but the deep bruising was still healing. The pain drove all thoughts of being nice from John’s mind. Driving an elbow into the face of the unfortunate pilot, John straightened, lashing out with his bantos sticks, releasing his pain and frustration from the Siege and over losing Ford by opening a major can of whoop-ass on the bullies. Dancing through the gang of pilots, instinct and training guided John’s hand, ensuring that the blows, while very painful, weren’t fatal.

 

 

* * *

Lorne and the rest of his wing had just entered the gym when they heard the ruckus from the martial arts area. Figuring that something might be going down, they jogged over, stopping in the doorway in surprise. A dark-haired figure, wielding two arm-length staves was facing off against twelve of the drunks from the previous night… and winning.

As they watched in stunned silence, the dark haired man delivered several well-placed blows that sent two of the pilots crumpling  to the ground as he spun away to find his next opponents. Spiky, as Lorne decided to call him, staggered as another pilot landed a quick series of blows to his ribs from behind. Spiky retaliated with a high elbow that released an impressive blood spray from his assailant’s broken nose. Watching Spiky, Lorne realized that some of the guy’s moves were familiar. They reminded him of a friend who was Special Ops.

Without turning from the scene in front of him, Lorne told Cooper to call the Security Officers and emergency services.

After the last pilot hit the floor groaning in pain, leaving Spiky the only one standing, Lorne cautiously moved towards him, grabbing a towel from a nearby bench as he crossed the floor, tossing it to Spiky when he was close enough. “You okay?” Lorne asked softly as Spiky wiped the sweat from his face.

“Yeah, thanks.” Spiky vigorously rubbed his hair with the towel, causing the spikes to become even wilder, before draping it around his neck.

“Those were some pretty sweet moves,” Lorne drawled.

“Thanks, been practicing a lot lately,” Spiky answered in a matching drawl.

Lorne hesitated, but wanted to ask a question that he wasn’t sure Spiky would answer. “If you don’t mind my asking, are you Special Ops?”

Spiky cocked his head at him, a thoughtful look on his face. “If I tell you the truth then I have to kill you.” He closed his eyes for a moment then shook himself, his eyes opening as he answered. “I’m a pilot. Flown a lot of different craft in a lot of different places. Picked up some stuff here and there.”

Lorne recognized an evasion when he heard one, but before he could press, their conversation was interrupted by base security and a group of EMTs. Security officers separated the five SGC members and took their statements. Lorne wasn’t close enough to hear any of what Spiky said, but when the security officer looked at his ID, the man stood a bit straighter which spoke volumes about the mysterious pilot.

An EMT approached Spiky and Lorne could tell that the medic wanted to examine the pilot. He saw Spiky sigh then reach down and pull his t-shirt off. Lorne’s eyes almost bugged out when he saw the scars on the other man’s torso. Most were recognizable as knife and gunshot wounds but there were a few odd ones, such as the claw marks on his left shoulder and an unusual mark on the side of his neck. Lorne also noticed the fresh bruises blooming across the pilot’s ribs and back.

 

 

* * *

The EMT carefully checked the bruised areas, pronouncing his ribs free of cracks or breaks, and gave John two doses of a strong painkiller along with a warning to seek immediate help if he started having trouble breathing, nausea or dizziness. John nodded, took the small packet of pills and thanked the medic, relieved to have avoided a trip to the hospital.

After the EMT left, the Security Officer picked up their interrupted discussion. “So, Colonel, these men accosted a group of pilots that will be under your command last night. After subduing them, you and your men let it be and left.”

John nodded. “Yep. Didn’t want to do any extra paperwork. Didn’t seem worth it.”

Sergeant Perkins nodded in understanding. “I understand. We would have put them in the drunk tank, but that would have went into their jackets.”

“Hey, I figured no blood or broken bones and maybe they’d take the hint and drop it. I certainly didn’t ask them to come here and interrupt my workout.” John crossed his arms in annoyance. “They threw the first punches, which I know the security cameras will show. Since they were sober this time, I figured that they knew what they were doing, not that drunkenness is ever acceptable, so I disabled them. None of them will fly for at least a week, maybe longer depending on the doctors and JAG.”

Perkins sighed. “That group has been causing trouble since day one. This will probably be the last straw for some of them. I have your statement, and if there is anything else we’ll be in touch.”

John nodded. “If you need clarification or additional information, I’ll be here for two more days then I’m heading back to Peterson, where I’ll be for a week. After that I’ll be heading back to my command. The mail service there is a bit irregular, so it may take a while for me to get back to you.”

Perkins shook his hand. “Be careful and good luck. Oh, and thanks for not killing any of them. I watched part of the footage before I came to interview you and I recognize some of your moves although I didn’t know they taught escrima at AFSOC.”

John shook his head. “They don’t. A friend of mine has been teaching me. She’s been using it since she was little. I’ve only been practicing for about a year.”

Perkins eyes widened. “A year, sir? With moves like yours you could easily beat my old instructor and he was a fifth level black. Well, I’ve got what I need. You’re free to go, Colonel.”

With that, John headed out, back to his temporary quarters at the Visiting Officers Billet. After a shower and soak in the Jacuzzi tub, John got a good portion of his paperwork done.

After a slightly late lunch, John headed back to the flight line to observe his new pilots. They were all excellent and would do well with the jumpers, although none were close to his level of ability or skill except Lorne.

While dining at the Officer’s Club, John finalized the paperwork for the transfers. The pilots would be receiving their new orders upon their return to Colorado. With the files sent, he enjoyed the rest of his evening and went shopping, picking up some new clothes, books and DVD’s, as well as a few things for Teyla, who was running the city while he and the rest of the senior staff were on Earth.

The next day, his last at Nellis, John finished his recertifications to keep his flight status current. Until now, he’d never really stopped to think about just how many different aircraft he was rated to fly. F-16 Falcons, Pave Hawks, Apaches, Blackhawks, Ospreys, Cobras, and he could now add Jumpers and F-302s.

Near sunset, he checked out a Pave Hawk that needed a test flight. After putting the chopper through its paces, he landed on a bluff that he’d spotted earlier and watched the sun set over the desert. As the stars winked into view overhead, the view made him homesick for Atlantis.

Home. That word had never meant much after his mother died. Even after he joined the Air Force, home was wherever his mother was. After her death from cancer, home was just a word to describe where he was living. Even during his marriage to Nancy, the house they’d shared had never felt like home.

After living in Atlantis for the past year, he realized that the Ancient city was home. It felt like a missing piece of his soul had been found. Watching the stars twinkle overhead, he realized that some of the other empty places in his soul had been filled by the people that had become good friends and even family. Elizabeth, Carson, Rodney, Teyla, Radek and the missing Ford had all found their way past his walls and taken up residence in his heart. They were his family now. They accepted his quirks as he accepted theirs. Hell, they knew more about him than his own father or brother did.

He thought about calling Dave, but decided the pain wasn’t worth it. Dave would get mad because of John’s secrets and start spouting a copy of Patrick Sheppard’s latest tirade against his youngest son, and he sure as shit wasn’t calling dear old Dad just to get the abuse first hand.

After watching the stars a bit longer, John climbed back into the Pave Hawk and headed back to base. His flight to Colorado was scheduled for 1000 hours and he needed to pack and get some sleep. From here on out, things were about to get interesting.

 

# Chapter 3

The fight to Peterson was … interesting. All of his pilots, except for the three strays that Randall recommended, were onboard. Those three, having not made the trip to Nellis, had already received their orders for Atlantis. Those onboard with him would receive theirs once they returned to the Mountain.

Lorne knew something was up when they were met by Landry’s adjutant just as they stepped out of the elevator onto the SGC’s top floor. “New orders, sirs,” he stated then started handing out envelopes. With the rest of his flight behind him, Lorne headed for the mess hall. Grabbing a seat, he took a sip of his coffee and a bite of a cheese Danish before ripping open the envelope. Perusing the first page, his eyebrows met his hairline in surprise.

Cooper looked across the table at the usually stoic major, hard pressed to tamp down his own surprise at Lorne’s show of emotion. “Hey Major, what’s up? Did you get transferred to one of the forward bases?”

Lorne tore his eyes away from the letters on the page, glancing up into the worried gazes of his flight. “You could say that – I’m going to Atlantis.”

Tearing open his own envelope, Walker let out a soft whistle. “Atlantis – man, we are so lucky. There’s guys here would give their left nut to go there. The commander there … the new guy … um, what’s his name?”

“Sheppard, Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard.” Jones interjected as he joined the group, waving his orders in the air. “He’s Air Force. Ended up being the only zoomie among a bunch of grunts.”

“Hey, how ‘bout you, Cooper?”

Ripping preceded a grunt of surprise. “Huh, me too.” He looked up. “Guess we’re gonna be seeing a lot more of each other in the future.”

Lorne had heard of the guy. Sheppard had seen action in Afghanistan then wound up playing taxi driver in Antarctica after a rescue mission went south. While ferrying O’Neill from McMurdo, a drone had accidentally activated and launched from the outpost seeking the incoming chopper. Only Sheppard’s extraordinary piloting skills had kept him and the General in one piece. In typical O’Neill fashion, the General granted Sheppard security clearance on the spot, granting him access to the Ancient outpost. While talking with Dr. Beckett, he sat down in the Control Chair and they discovered that he had the Ancient gene, which earned him his ticket to the SGC and Atlantis. Lorne had heard that Sheppard had even topped O’Neill in the gene strength department.

Cooper interrupted Lorne’s musings. “That guy is like Superman. He must have Special Ops training. I know we all get basic ground training, but this guy is something else.”

Walker chimed in. “Been talking to some of the guys that just returned from Atlantis. The way they talk about the guy you’d think he walks on water.”

Lorne shrugged, not willing to speculate about his new Commanding Officer. “Guess we’ll find out.”

 

 

* * *

John checked in with Elizabeth, Carson and Rodney. Everything was going well with selecting new personnel and new equipment. Standing up from the table after the long meeting, he winced as his bruised ribs shifted.

“Colonel?” Beckett’s tone carried a touch of concern.

John waved him off. “I’m fine, Carson. Just aggravated my bruised ribs, and yes, I had them checked.”

“John?”

Great, now Elizabeth was worried. He sighed. “Some pilots at Nellis took exception to my interview method.”

“Interview method?” Elizabeth quipped.

“Yeah,” John’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “I challenged some of the SGC pilots to a dogfight.”

“You what?!” John got it in stereo.

“Relax.” John grinned. “No live fire. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some more job interviews to conduct.”

 

 

* * *

Lorne noticed Spiky when he entered the gym and started his workout. From the guy’s light tan and the sour looks he threw at the treadmills, he figured the guy spent a lot of time outdoors. He guessed that Spiky must be new to the SGC as he was familiar with the members of the current Gate teams. Ah, well, he’d find out the guy’s story soon enough. He set the rest of the pilots to sparring, watching them while he also observed the newcomer. When Spiky finished his workout, Lorne called out to the mystery man. “Would you care to spar?”

Spiky tilted his head slightly as he considered Lorne’s question. “Hand to hand or sticks?”

Lorne thought for a moment. He could always find partners for unarmed combat, but finding a challenger for staff practice was different. “Sticks.”

Lorne walked over to a rack, retrieving two of the Jaffa staff weapons. He turned, staffs in hand and realized that Spiky had brought the short sticks that he’d seen him use in Nevada. Re-racking one of the weapons, he crossed the floor to his partner.

 

 

* * *

When John walked into the gym, he knew everyone had eyes on him. He was unknown and they were all sizing him up. He ignored it as he ran his laps. When he stopped to watch Lorne and the other pilots, he felt the stares returning. Accepting Lorne’s offer to spar, John felt the looks intensify and multiply as he retrieved his bantos rods from his bag.

John met Lorne on a group of unoccupied mats in the center of the room. He grimaced at the position, as it was way too open for his taste, but there was no help for it. He watched Lorne warm-up while he readied himself. It was evident that Lorne knew how to use the staff although some of the moves were a bit rough.

Warm-ups complete, the two stepped into their ready stances, the rest of the room falling silent as the soldiers stopped to watch. Lorne held his staff cross-body, ready to guard or strike while John had one stick in guard position, the other out to the side able to attack or guard. At an unseen signal, the two pilots moved, weapons swinging, the sound of ironwood and composites filling the room. Using a staff, Lorne had the advantage of reach, but he had to stay on his toes, constantly shifting to avoid or block blows from the other man’s sticks. Unfortunately, Spiky’s shorter sticks were more mobile and one snapped in to his side on the rebound. Spiky’s size also put Lorne at a disadvantage. Spiky was taller than Lorne by a few inches, but he was slim and deceptively strong. A lot of skinny guys didn’t have that much power in their frames. Having seen Spiky fight, Lorne surmised that he was nothing but bone and lean, dense muscle.

As the match progressed, John spared a moment to think how proud Teyla would be of him. His moves were fluid and he was keeping his guard up. Lorne managed to score a few glancing blows, but John avoided or blocked most of his strikes. More of John’s blows landed, the size of the staff weapon, an advantage against the stock Jaffa warriors, was also its disadvantage against a lithe and agile opponent. After much back and forth, the match ended with Lorne on his back, John kneeling at his side, one stick poised a hair’s breadth from cracking his skull open. Standing, John put out a hand. “Need some help, Major?”

Lorne just grunted as he accepted Spiky’s help. Once he was on his feet, he surreptitiously rubbed a few of the spots where he’d taken hits.

John noticed and shot him a look of concern. “You alright?”

Lorne nodded. “Yeah, I’m fine.” He panted a little to catch his breath. “It’s been awhile since I’ve had that good of a workout.”

John nodded. “I know what you mean. I’ve had trouble finding good sparring partners in the past.” John shot him a cocky grin. “You did real well.” He waved a hand at the rest of the troops. “None of them would’ve stood that long.” One eyebrow rose to join the grin, giving him a mischievous look. “Next time, Major, you might want to remember that bigger isn’t always better.”

 

 

* * *

Lorne hesitated a moment, taking a moment to compose himself before he knocked on O’Neill’s door. Releasing a deep breath, he rapped on the General’s door, receiving a quick “enter”.

Lorne stepped forward. He knew O’Neill hated formality so he skipped the salute and instead stepped into attention. “Major Lorne, reporting as ordered, sir.”

O’Neill looked up at the Major’s entrance, a hint of annoyance crossing his face at the airman’s stiff stance. “At ease. Sit down, Major.”  He waited until Lorne took a seat. “Now, I’ll get right to the point. I know that you’re going to Atlantis, but have you thought about what you’ll be doing there?”

Lorne thought hard. He had no idea what life was like on the alien city. Would he just be a pilot, or would he be on a Gate team, flying only when necessary? “Um, I really hadn’t thought about it, sir.”

O’Neill nodded. “You’ve served as Executive Officer twice, correct?”

“Yes sir.” Lorne confirmed. “Squadron XO under Major Weston and Battalion XO under Lieutenant Colonel Hopkins.”

O’Neill rubbed his hands together. “Excellent. How would you like to be Executive Officer on Atlantis?”

Lorne’s jaw dropped. _XO … on Atlantis? Was O’Neill serious?_

O’Neill chuckled. “Yes, Major, I’m serious. Sheppard’s good, but he hasn’t attended Command School and I can’t keep him here long enough to attend. He needs someone that knows the ropes and is not afraid to help him out. You’ve got a good head on your shoulders and I think the two of you will get along well.”

Lorne was stunned. “Um, one question. I haven’t been able to find out much about him. What’s he like?”

O’Neill leaned back in his chair, a thoughtful look on his face. “Sheppard’s a lot like me. He doesn’t like to stand on formality unless it’s necessary, but he’s a stickler about training and readiness. He’s very unorthodox, which makes him perfect for Atlantis. He is an exceptional pilot and also has the strongest expression of the ATA gene that we’ve found so far. He’s very smart, and can manage Dr. McKay.”

Lorne raised an eyebrow in surprise. Sheppard had actually managed to contain McKay? The guy was legendary for running roughshod over just about everyone around him. “Has he been nominated for sainthood?”

O’Neill laughed. “Not yet, but I might give him a medal for it.” The General sobered. “There’s one more thing that Sheppard and I have in common. He has a very strong moral code and will do what’s right regardless of orders. Part of his code is that we never leave a man behind.”

That was no surprise. Paper pushers might never understand that phrase, but anyone that had spent time in hot zones sure did. You looked out for each other and you never left a man behind. “Sir, I accept.” Lorne grinned. “I’ll take it.”

 

# Chapter 4

Lorne spent the entire trip aboard Daedalus trying to figure out which one was his new CO. The man was like a ghost, flitting all over the ship, appearing and disappearing at will. There were some rather tense moments when the ship reached the Pegasus Galaxy. They had to shut down the ship’s systems several times to get rid of a Wraith computer virus.

His first view of Atlantis stole his breath away. The few pictures he’d seen while still on Earth did not do the city justice. Once the ship landed, he headed off with the rest of the incoming troops. Stepping foot inside the city, duffle slung over his shoulder, he was met by a Marine sergeant. The sergeant took one look at Lorne, his eyes seeking out the rank insignia on his shoulders. Finding the gold oak leaves, the trooper straightened to attention, snapping off a sharp salute which Lorne returned.

“Major Lorne, I’m Sergeant Stackhouse. Maj … Colonel Sheppard asked me to meet you. He regrets that he could not do it himself, but a situation came up in one of the labs.”

Lorne shifted slightly. “I understand.”

Stackhouse relaxed slightly. “Sir, would you prefer to get something to eat first or go to your quarters?”

“My quarters.” Lorne replied quickly, plucking at one of his sleeves. “I’d like to get out of this getup before I see any of the city.”

“Very good, sir.”

As Stackhouse started to salute, Lorne stopped him. “That’s enough of that.” A grin crossed his face. “I heard Sheppard isn’t real big on formality, and to tell the truth, neither am I.”

A matching grin creased Stackhouse’s face. “The rest of the guys will be glad to hear that, sir.”

Stackhouse led Lorne to a nice sized room. It was about the size of the apartment he’d had in Colorado Springs. Stepping in, he saw the room was very sparsely furnished with a bed, desk, sofa and a small dresser.

Stackhouse cleared his throat, drawing Lorne from his inspection. “Did you bring a laptop with you?”

Lorne nodded. “Yes. I’ve been using it to read over the mission reports from the teams stationed here.”

“Well, you need to get in touch with Dr. Zelenka and get him to register it with the network.” He reached into a pocket rooting around for a minute. Finding what he was looking for, he pulled the object out. “Here’s your transceiver. Channel one is general chatter, two is Command, four is military.”

Lorne took it, adjusted it and inserted it into his ear. Deciding to test it, he put out a call. “Major Lorne to Doctor Zelenka.”

_“Zelenka here.”_ A heavily accented Czech voice answered.

“I understand you’re the person I need to talk to so my laptop won’t get fried by the firewall.” While talking, Lorne was booting up his machine.

_“Yes, yes. You are the Colonel’s second, correct?”_

Lorne nodded, even though the guy couldn’t see him. “That’s me, doc.”

_“What is your unit’s ID number?”_

Lorne rattled it off. He could  hear keys rattling in the background.

_“Check under networks. You should now see ‘PEGNET’ as an option. Will use same log in as SGC.”_

Lorne tried it and it worked perfectly. “Thanks, doc.”

_“You are welcome. Zelenka out.”_

Stackhouse had listened in on the entire exchange. “Zelenka’s pretty easy to get along with. He’s one of the few people that McKay can’t bully, the Colonel’s another.”

Lorne started unpacking. “So when do I get to meet him?”

“Orientation tomorrow morning. He wanted to give all the new guys a day to acclimate.” Stackhouse started to leave then turned back. “After you get changed, I recommend you open the email that says ‘Welcome to PEGNET’ first. It’s got some really good info in it, including a map of the inhabited part of the city.”

“I will, thanks.”

Later that evening, Stackhouse called with an update, giving Lorne a reprieve. It seems that the situation Sheppard had been called to take care of had landed him in the infirmary, so the orientation was being pushed back by one day.

 

 

* * *

John observed from a dark corner, watching the new transfers file in. A ghost of a smile appeared as he saw his pilots file in and take seats, Lorne in the lead. Teyla appeared at his side, a bottle of water in her hands.

“Here. Carson asked me to remind you to take your pills.”

John dug in his pocket with his uninjured hand, removing a small pill bottle. “I was just waiting on you.”

She opened the water for him, handing it to him after he popped the pills in his mouth.

Teyla cocked her head slightly, concern written on her face. “Are you sure you are up for this?”

John nodded, smiling at her. “Yeah, I’ll be fine. It’s just a little scratch.”

Teyla frowned. “Carson said it took twenty-eight stitches to close up the gash on your arm. That is not a ‘little scratch’.”

John took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “Teyla, I’m fine. I’ve had worse and done more this soon afterwards.”

Teyla took a deep breath of her own. “I am just concerned, that is all.”

He bent down, touching his forehead to hers. “I know, and I appreciate it.”

Stackhouse stuck his head out, caught sight of his CO and gave a sharp nod.

“Well, time to get this party started.”

 

 

* * *

Trying to spot the infamous Colonel Sheppard, Lorne kept glancing around every few minutes. He saw Stackhouse go to the door and look out before stepping back inside. Shortly afterwards, two shapes slipped inside, closing the doors behind them. Unless his eyes were playing tricks, he could’ve sworn one was a woman. With the lighting turned down, he lost the two in the darkness as they made their way forward.

Movement on the stage caught his attention as Stackhouse stepped forward.

“Attention! Marines and Airmen, welcome to Orientation. For those of you that do not know me, I am Sergeant Marcus Stackhouse. I lead Gate team 4.” Stackhouse glanced over his shoulder at a dark shape moving behind him. “At this time, I would like to present to you the Military Commander of Atlantis, Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard.”

Stackhouse stepped back and assumed parade rest. The figure Lorne had seen behind him stepped forward. It was his friend Spiky from the SGC.

“Greetings, everyone! As Stackhouse told you, I’m Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard. It is my pleasure to welcome you all to the Pegasus Galaxy.”

Part of Lorne’s brain absorbed what Sheppard was saying, but the other part was shocked. He was not usually interested in gossip, but having seen Sheppard in action, some of the tales about him made more sense. Glancing around, he noticed the same shocked look that he was sure graced his own face mirrored on the other pilots that had come with him.

Eventually, orientation was over. Lorne headed for the mess hall to grab a bite to eat. He’d just sat down when Sheppard, McKay and a petite woman entered. From their closeness, he deduced that this was Teyla Emmagan, the third member of Sheppard’s Gate team. Each picked up a tray and selected their food. At the end of the serving line, as Sheppard tried to pick his tray up, he saw him wince and almost drop it. Teyla’s quick reflexes saved it before it did more than a slight wobble. He was too far away to hear what she said to the Colonel, but it was probably along the lines of ‘be careful’. As they turned, with Sheppard carefully balancing his tray, Lorne saw why he’d almost dropped it. From elbow to wrist, Sheppard’s arm was swathed in bandages.  Seeing the injury, Lorne just shook his head. Guess the reports about him being a trouble magnet are true too.

Shortly after lunch, Lorne made his way to Sheppard’s office. He found Sheppard, feet up on his desk, head back and sound asleep. No sooner did he step through the doorway than he was facing a loaded .45. Hands up, Lorne froze. “Sorry, sir.”

Sheppard blinked, focusing on the person before him. As recognition set in, the barrel lowered then the pistol was slipped back into its holster. “Sorry, Major. I’m not in the habit of greeting visitors at gunpoint.” He held up his left arm. “The painkillers Beckett gave me make me drowsy if I don’t stay busy, plus I didn’t sleep well last night.” He sat up, putting his feet back on the floor and scrubbing his good hand across his face and through his hair. “So what brings you to my humble abode?”

Lorne stepped further in, taking a seat. “Thought I’d come see where my office is and get checked out on the Jumpers.”

Sheppard gestured around him. “For now, you’ll be sharing with me. There’s another desk over there, just need to get our new quartermaster up here to take charge of all that stuff. We’ll get you your own office later.” The stuff was ammo crates, tac vests and boxes of other assorted gear.

“I’ll handle that.” Lorne leaned forward. “I also wanted to apologize. While we were on Earth, I never realized who you were. I asked around and no one could tell me what you looked like and every picture I found was corrupted.”

Sheppard chuckled. “I’m not surprised. I wasn’t part of the official chain of command when we left the first time. It was probably buried in the civilian section.” He stood, heading for the door. “Now, about the Jumpers.”

Lorne hurried to catch up with Sheppard’s long stride. “I heard they read your mind.”

Sheppard’s face lit up with joy. “Major, the Jumpers will spoil you for any other aircraft. They react at the speed of thought. They take dogfighting to a whole new level.”

The two pilots quickened their strides, eager to get into the air.

Entering the Jumper Bay, John led the way to Jumper Two. Jumper One was his favorite and he’d noticed that the Jumpers tended to … bond … with a regular pilot so he didn’t want to mess with the bond. He completed a quick but thorough pre-flight checklist while Lorne watched from the co-pilot’s seat. “Control, this is Sheppard in Jumper Two. I’m taking Major Lorne out on a training flight.”

“Roger that, Colonel. Be safe.”

Easing through the roof hatch, John took the Jumper up into Lantea’s atmosphere. He flew a wide loop then turned the Jumper. Hearing Lorne’s gasp of wonder made him smile. “Now watch and learn, Lorne.” John steadied his hands on the controls, reaching out with the connection he’d had with the Ancient tech from the day he sat down in the Antarctic Chair. Thoughts meshing with the Jumper, he flew a dizzying course through the towers.

“Oh my god, that was amazing!” Lorne was breathless. “O’Neill said you were exceptional, but that …!”

John smiled. Placing the Jumper on auto-pilot, he stood. “Alright, Major, your turn.”

Lorne was stunned. “Are you kidding? There’s no way I can do that!”

John shook his head as he got comfortable. “Don’t worry about it. I’ve been flying them since Day One. Just take it slow and get a feel for it.”

“I think we’ll get along just fine, sir.” Lorne said with a smile as he took the controls.

“Y’know, I do believe you might be right, Major.” Sheppard’s smile was just as big.

Thus was the start of a great working relationship.

_– And Life Goes On –_

  
 


End file.
